


Mirror: Daud on Daud Action

by kryptic



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Absolute Fucking Nonsense, Frotting, M/M, Miraculous Doppelganger Sex, Oral Sex, Other, PWP, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptic/pseuds/kryptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daud has sex with a clone of himself. An absurdly belated gift for a dear rp partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror: Daud on Daud Action

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the other Daud's name is spelled Duad. This is a joke. The entire fic is a big, stupid joke.

Daud has never liked mirrors. Since he was a young man, they have always shown him something that he didn’t care to see. When he levels his head and gazes into those deep green eyes, there is a stranger staring back. He always figures the dysphoria for a product of his abduction and the dark years that came thereafter. Still, his thoughts always seem to linger on the man who watches him on the other side of the glass.

It seems fitting that he should see a mirror in his dreams. So much of his time lately has been spent in self-reflection, trying to understand the contents of his own soul. He is in the Spartan quarters were he was kept as a boy, standing in front of the sink with dim twilight slotting in through the bars on the windows. Daud was fifteen the last time he saw the interior of this room, but the man standing before him is in his forties, his age spelled out in the creases on his face and the weariness in his eyes.

There is something else there, too. It is the same something that stops the assassin every time he gets a glimpse of his own reflection – some darkness in the doppelganger’s gaze and demeanor that he does not recognize in himself. He tries to look away, only to feel his head gripped by the jaw and turned as if by some invisible hand. The stare on the other side catches him, only a thin silvery plane to separate the two.

He leans in to get a closer look, something he has never dared before. His hands are braced on the sink and his breath fogs up the glass. The other Daud is breathing just as hard, looming closer and closer in his sight. For a moment, he almost thinks he can see mist on the other side of the barrier, but doubtless it is just the mirror’s illusion. His focus shifts back up to the dark pools of jade in the other man’s face. They seem to drink the light.

Daud feels the movement before he sees it. There is a tremor in the air mirrored by an identical reaction in his heart as it kicks into a faster pace. Then there are thin lips crushed against his, and rough hands gripping his arms. He stumbles back even as his neck cranes forward, instinct ruling him for a moment as he instantly responds.

The kiss ends as quickly as it began, a wet noise seeming far too loud in the quiet room as they draw apart. With a start, he opens his eyes and sees his own reflection. But the mirror is gone.

“What the fuck?” he asks automatically, trying to pull an arm out of the vice.

It’s a strange thing to hear his own voice answer back, speaking words that he has not said. The other Daud wears a grin, dark and malevolent despite the flash of white teeth.

“It’s time you faced me,” Duad says, and tightens his iron grip. He places one of Daud’s hands against his chest, the other on his throat. A gentle squeeze locks Daud’s fingers around Duad’s neck.

The action comes naturally. From that point forward, Daud doesn’t require any persuasion to close his fingers and restrict the flow of air. He feels the result on his own body, the tingle that strikes his brain and his groin at once.

It makes him jump backward instantly, pulling away from the hands that restrict him. There’s only about a meter of space between them, and the air is charged with some kind of energy. Magnetism, electricity, he doesn’t know the precise term, but it makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and puts a lump into his throat which he can’t seem to swallow around.

Once he has a moment to collect his thoughts, he realizes that his pulse is racing, his breath coming hard and fast. Pure instinct makes him reach for the sword that would be at his hip – but it isn’t there now. He’s clothed casually, as if for sleep or summer, the way he might dress before the whole sad business with the empress transpired.

The twitch of his hand brings a smug smirk to his doppelganger’s face. The laugh that comes is harsh and bitter, dark like coffee and twisted like his fucking soul. At least it’s short, cut off as the other Daud begins to speak.

“Do you love me, or hate me?”

The question gives him pause. He narrows his eyes in suspicion and tries to come up with a satisfactory answer.

“A little of both,” he replies, though it isn’t entirely true. There’s more than a _little_ hate in him.

Daud jerks his chin at his dark counterpart and raises his brows.

“What about you? Love or hate?”

“Plenty of both,” comes his twin’s answer, his voice managing undertones that are somehow far more sinister.

Duad takes a step forward, closing the gap that separates their bodies. His breath courses over Daud’s neck when he speaks, and he can smell his own scent in the air - tobacco, sweat, leather, and spices from a life long past.

“What about lust?” the mirror demands. “Why not make the most of it?”

Then, the soft pads of fingertips are running oh so gently under his jaw. He shivers, but doesn’t draw away. Instead, he gazes straight ahead, right into his own green eyes.

“Of all the things we could be doing.”

“Outsider knows you spend enough time talking to me and torturing me already. And yet you never touch me.”

“Not in that way.”

“No. But you want to.”

It’s queer that he should feel ashamed with no company in the room but himself. His own human weakness, his vulnerability to the baser desires, is something that Daud thought he disposed with quite some time ago. Normally, he bends over backwards to lie to himself. The other one knows, though. He looks at himself and sees a wolf’s smile.

“But I don’t.”

The fingertips pressed to his throat start to work again. They trail over his skin with a feather-light touch, the touch of a man who has made a living on the deftness of his hands. The pad of a thumb presses against his Adam’s apple and a hot, wet mouth finds its way to the tender flesh beneath his ear. Daud gasps softly as the fog of euphoria begins to cloud his senses. Duad knows all the ways to touch him, all the right places.

“But you want to.”

Duad’ hand works at the buttons of Daud’s shirt as he presses the other to the back of Daud’s neck, drawing his throat up against his teeth. Duad sucks and bites until Daud is sure that there is a pitch dark bruise on his already dusky skin and he is struggling to stay upright, dizzy with lust. He tangles his own hands in Duad’s shirt and tugs on it hard, straining the fabric and pulling him closer.

Their chests are pressed together snugly, hard enough to be almost painful. The altered angle forces Duad’s mouth back up to Daud’s, colliding in a kiss that is much more a battle than a display of affection. Both bite hard, without shame or restraint, nipping with enough ferocity to leave dents and marks, perhaps even scars.

All he can concentrate on is the absolutely vicious scrape of teeth against his bottom lip and the heat coiling in his stomach as he presses his chest against the hard muscles of his double. He curls his hand around Duad’s neck with increasing force, taking revenge on himself for all of the wrong he’s done. There are nails sinking into the soft skin under his jaw, pinching the tender flesh of his earlobe. The pain and the pleasure mingles together into one solid sensation that ripples throughout his being.

Daud groans and fits a hand down between their bodies, finds the bulge in the front of Duad’s trousers and strokes it roughly. The flow of pleasure startles him as it reaches into his lower belly, mirroring what he does to the other.

“Is this masturbation?” he mumbles as they break the kiss.

His question is greeted with a wry smile and a prurient leer. “Only if you get me off.”

Daud takes that as a challenge. The soft rustle of fabric rises into the room as he tightens his grip and rubs a steady pace. For once, he has the upper hand on his double, who closes his eyes and sinks his teeth into his lower lip. He builds speed and pressure until Duad is squirming for more friction, panting and shattering the relative quiet with half-stifled grunts.

He feels every inch of it. The pleasure is in his own chest and stomach, making his own cock hard. For one desperate moment, he thinks that both of them are going to come.

It’s then that he removes his hand completely, holding it up to touch nothing but cold air. The resulting disappointment is its own orgasm, or near enough. Daud hasn’t even had the opportunity to come down from the euphoria before the lapels of his shirt are seized and the fabric is torn from his body. Buttons fly, skittering across the rough wood floor.

In retaliation, he attacks, grabbing Duad by the shirt as well and wrapping it around his fist. Blunt nails rake down Daud’s back, pressing bitterly hard into his flesh in order to have any hope of damaging his skin. It does break, though; he can feel the sting and the unique hot-cold sensation of blood welling up from a scratch.

Their mouths collide again, hungry and gluttonous. He runs his nails down his Duad’s stomach, leaving jagged red lines. The sensation serves only to increase the ferocity of the kiss. They grapple for dominance, and a well-placed bite from his twin has Daud gasping and grinding desperately through the layer of corduroy. He doesn’t struggle as the buttons of his trousers are undone, the fabric pushed down his thighs until his erection is freed.

There is no room for any other thought in his mind when a hand finds his cock and strokes it. The grip is hard, rough, squeezing him as if in punishment. He pushes back against it, thrusting, one arm hooked around Duad’s neck and the other undoing his buttons. Daud barely notices that they’re moving until his back is pressed up against a wall. The surface is pleasantly cool against the scratches that parallel his spine, but the wounds sting at any contact.

Duad’s mouth leaves his, trailing instead from his ear to his jaw and down his neck until it finds the hollow of his collarbone. A light sheen of sweat coats his skin, shivering cold when his alter ego blows softly across it. Daud shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall. Only the feeling of the other’s lips tells him where he is traveling as they trail down and down, playing along the line of coarse, dark hair.

Strong hands grip him tightly by the hips and hold him steady. Thin lips kiss the tip of his penis, then part, sliding down over his head. He bucks involuntarily when he feels the swipe of a tongue across his underside, fisting his hands into Duad’s hair for support. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything like this, and it feels so exquisite that he manages to overlook how perverse it is.

Before long, his entire length is engulfed. He can feel the ghostly sensation poking at the back of his own throat, half-choking him. The hard, tight muscles of his abdomen tense and flex as he surrenders control of his body to his own animal needs, gripping the back of his lookalike’s neck and thrusting hard and fast into his mouth. He doesn’t care what he looks like, or that he’s succumbing to a lust that he’s vehemently denied for years, or that he can feel his own cock ramming into his mouth.

Daud presses in all the way and gives short, slow thrusts, close and almost intimate. To his credit, his counterpart does not protest, wrapping his lips and tongue around and taking every millimeter he’s given. Duad keeps up a gentle, steady suction which, coupled with the unutterably soft and silken feeling of his mouth, is enough to drive Daud to the edge. His hands tighten around the nape of the other man’s neck and he pulls out almost completely before ramming in to the hilt. He can feel his cock shudder as he spurts directly onto the back of Duad’s throat, waits for him to swallow and lick his head clean before withdrawing.

He takes a step back and looks down at himself, kneeling on the floor like a mutt. His lips are slick and slightly swollen, flushed with color. Errant hairs stand out from where he’s been gripped and pulled this way and that, his normal style mussed almost beyond recognition. There’s a tint of red in his cheeks and a sly grin on his face as he sucks at his own lips. Daud can taste the flavor of his own semen on his tongue.

His trousers are wet near the crotch. The outline of his cock shows through the fabric, still hard. Daud bends down and grips it, nearly jumps at the sensation. It’s so tender after his orgasm that he feels every touch, even through the thick corduroy.

Duad begins to unbutton his shirt, then tosses it aside. All the while, he’s gasping, making quiet, eager noises, rocking his hips gently against the contact. The lust is far from gone.

Daud lurches forward and bowls Duad over onto his back. Their bare chests are pressed together now, stomach over soft stomach, and he can feel their hair and heat and sweat begin to mingle. He presses his mouth to Duad’s neck, tastes salt and flesh, and sucks hard with liberal application of teeth. The man beneath him begins to squirm, digging fingers into Daud’s sides and back, leaving more marks on his skin. Daud lets his mouth travel down further to the muscle on Duad’s shoulder, biting down until he tastes the tang of iron.

There’s a groan from underneath him. He feels knuckles brush against his lower abdomen and braces his hands on the floor, lifting his weight so that Duad can slide down his pants. The fabric collects around his knees and he impatiently kicks it off, shoving the puddle of corduroy across the floor with a foot.

As his fingers work at the closures of Duad’s trousers, the oddness of unbuttoning his own pants from the second-person strikes him. It’s even confusing, for a moment, and provides for another moment of clarity during which he realizes that he is indeed intent upon fucking a clone of himself in what he only assumes are the depths of the Void. The thought strikes him that this entire ridiculous exercise may be some kind of test, meant to gauge his self-control, or perhaps his sanity.

The latter, he knows, is long gone, and the former evaporates in an instant as a very firm, capable hand closes around his shaft. It’s so much like the feeling of rubbing himself off that he seizes up for a moment, the stark outline of his triceps standing out in black contour as he holds himself aloft over Duad.

The hand on Daud’s cock withdraws for a moment, the loss of contact abrupt enough that he actually yearns for its return. There is a ripple of movement beneath him and a rustle of fabric as Duad takes matters into his own hands and kicks off the last remnants of his clothing.

Firm hands close around him, one looped around his neck and the other clasped on his shoulder. They pull him in with iron strength. Daud couldn’t resist the pressure, even if he wanted to. Once again, their bodies are pressed against each other. A growing layer of sweat slickens their skin, making their chests and stomachs slip smoothly against each other.

Daud feels the unmistakable presence of a cock begin to rub against his stomach. A furtive smile appears on Duad’s face as he works his hips, shifting them up and down to find the maximum friction. Without even thinking, Daud himself starts to do the same, bucking up against Duad’s abdomen to eke out every ounce of pleasure he possibly can. They settle into a rhythm together with the ultimate ease. He supposes that it only makes sense; he has never had a partner who understood him half so well.

One thing that he can’t bear to do is look down into his own eyes, or let himself be confronted by the lines of stress and anger tracing paths across Duad’s face. He won’t close his eyes, either, but instead focuses them on the far wall, studying the whitewash that stains it, the abandoned spider webs dangling from its surface. The details slowly blur as he enters some kind of euphoric trance, his attention diverted almost exclusively to his sense of touch, leaving his sight by the wayside.

Tension mounts in his back; heat builds up in the muscles of his stomach and arms as they begin to ache with effort. Every thrust of his hips is angry, vengeful, and self-serving. It is the simplest thing in the world to finally let himself go. He comes onto Duad’s belly and, without a moment of delay, feels the sensation mirrored back to him. His partner’s semen sticks to his thigh, thick and warm.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Daud rolls over onto his back and lets himself fall onto the hard wooden floor. The rough planks are murder on his spine, and he feels splinters needling at the back of his head, but he is too tired to care. His eyes slip shut; he breathes out deeply with no care for his other self.

With his lungs empty, the air now seems to triple in thickness. He struggles to breathe. Filled with a blind panic, his eyes fly open and he sits stark upright.

A tangled mess of sheets bind his legs. Outside, he can hear the rhythmic ring of sword on sword, and below, one of his assassins calling his name.


End file.
